The Pier
by MagicMyth83
Summary: Modern AU - SanSan Ned Stark and Robert Baratheon have made a fortune as business partners. Sansa Stark first meets Sandor Clegane as a child. He is a bodyguard employed by the Baratheon family. This story follows the evolution of their relationship over time. Rated T for now...
1. The First Encounter

**This story is inspired by a beautiful SanSan photoset created by the awesome xxxidrilxxx - please see my profile for the link to see the full image on tumblr!**

**Future chapters to come! I hope you like the first part!**

**All characters belong to GRRM!**

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**The First Encounter**

She was just a kid, the first time he saw her.

He recalled her blue eyes, wide with excitement, long limbs and a mass of fiery auburn hair. He recalled incessant chatter, too. The girl loved to talk, and occasionally he hadn't been able to contain his irritation at her constant prattling. He'd been told her name was Sansa. It was a fitting name, he'd thought, a pretty name for a pretty, chirping, little bird. For that's what she reminded him of. She was twelve years old and accompanying her father, Eddard Stark, on a business trip to the south.

Her father was the owner of _White Wolf Logistics_, and his fleet of trucks and network of subcontracted freight companies in the northern parts of the country was crucial to the success of Robert Baratheon's growing empire of businesses, all headed under the banner of _Crowned Stag Imports_. Robert's other advantage lay in the location of his warehouses and distribution centers. Their seaside locale had one major commercial port, and Robert had a virtual monopoly on the surrounding industrial estates. Once his shipping containers hit the docks, they were on a _White Wolf Logistics_ truck as soon as customs would allow it, and transported to various retailers and outlets throughout the country. The partnership of _Wolf _and _Stag_ made both men among the wealthiest in the United Kingdom.

Sandor was employed by the Baratheon family. First, they'd taken him on as a driver for Robert's wife, Cersei. But after some training and showing an aptitude for it, he'd been reassigned to their security team. Then when the Baratheon's eldest son hit school age, he'd been made the kid's minder. In other words, he'd become a glorified babysitter. It wasn't the best gig in the world, but neither was it the worst. The Baratheon's had given him a job when many had turned him away, and they paid him a decent salary.

The Baratheon's had multiple properties, including a grand house in the country that they often visited on weekends and a chalet in the Alps where they often took holidays. However, their main residence was a multi-level, waterfront terrace house that was a short drive away from Robert's offices, and a short walk away from the local seaside eateries and attractions.

The Piers, as they were simply known, were two of those attractions. The oldest of the two piers, now referred to as the Old Pier, was first built in the early 1800's, and had been damaged and repaired so many times over the two centuries since its construction that it now stood in a patchwork of aged wood that was creaky in places, iron railings and seawater-stained paint. More often than not, the pier would be 'closed for maintenance', banning visitors from walking along it. People still came to see it, learn about its history, take pictures and then leave to walk along the newer and infinitely safer Greater Pier.

The Greater Pier was a hundred and fifty years younger, built of concrete and steel and was wide enough to fit thirty people standing shoulder-to-shoulder. It was also built closer to the marina, where many pleasure vessels were berthed, and where the fancy restaurants, boutiques and bright lights attracted the vast majority of visitors.

Sandor preferred it that way. His job meant he was around people all day, and most of the time it was people he didn't care for in the slightest. The dilapidated pier offered him a place to walk, think and have a cigarette without interruption. He liked the solitude he could often find at the furthest tip of the Old Pier.

Eddard Stark's business trip lasted almost a week, and during one visit to the Baratheon house, Cersei had instructed the Nanny to take her three children and the Stark girl for a walk down to the Greater Pier to buy treats at the ice cream parlour, while the adults talked business. Dutifully, Sandor had followed close behind them and tried to ignore the fact that the little bird had been doing her best not to stare at the scars that covered the left side of his face.

The Nanny was in her fifties, and most of the time the woman was harassed and irritated. Looking after Joffrey Baratheon would drive anyone to insanity, and Sandor would know. If the boy wasn't with his Nanny, he was with Sandor. The boy had a begrudging respect for him, but the kid liked to test his limits, just to see how far he could push it before Sandor snapped.

Sandor had taken his eyes away from the Nanny and the four children in her care for only a moment, but in that space of time Joffrey and the red-haired Sansa had wandered away from the Greater Pier on their own. He let them go, but he watched them, as was his job to do. When it became clear they were heading in the direction of the Old Pier, he followed them.

The Old Pier was closed that day, and a sign had been hung up on the metal chain at the entrance of the pier. He was expecting that his two charges would just find some place to sit and goof around like adolescents do, away from the younger children. But it seemed Joffrey had other ideas.

Sandor watched and frowned. Joffrey was ducking under the metal chain, and calling Sansa to follow him onto the pier. The girl was pointing to the sign proclaiming the pier closure, but Joffrey must have called her a name because she stopped smiling, and now he looked to be egging her on.

"Don't follow him, you silly girl." Sandor muttered.

Nonetheless the girl ducked the chain link, and now she and Joffrey were walking along the potentially unsafe pier. Sandor knew there was probably little chance of actual danger; he was guilty of ignoring the closure sign himself on occasion. But, the Baratheon brat was unpredictable, and Sandor wasn't going to risk it.

He quickened his pace, and his long strides saw him catch up with them in no time. Sandor caught the girl by her elbow. She turned at the contact and the sharp yank on her arm, gasping in fright when she saw his face.

"What the hell do you kids think you're doing?" he yelled, louder than was necessary, "Can't either one of you read? The pier's closed!"

"I…I tried to…to tell him –" the girl stuttered.

"But you still fucking followed him, didn't you?" he saw her wince at his use of the profanity, "Are you stupid? If he told you to jump off it, would you?"

"No! I…I wouldn't!"

He could see that he was frightening her. He swore again, then looked up to find Joffrey looking at them with some alarm on his face.

"You rotten kid!" he shouted at Joffrey, "Ignore that sign again, under _my_ watch, and I'll throttle you. Now get back here, so we can get off this sodding pile of wood scraps."

He grabbed the boy by the scruff of his shirt, and with his hand still around the girl's elbow, he marched them off the pier, letting them go only when their feet hit the concrete path.

"Get back to your Nanny, boy," Sandor shoved Joffrey back towards the direction of the ice cream parlour, before glancing down at the trembling redhead, "Think I'm frightening, do you, girl? Then you'd best start thinking for yourself. You won't want to see me angry, and I'd be very angry if you let that boy get you into trouble and I have to be the one to get you out of it."

"I won't," she shook her head, eyes still wide with fright, "I promise."


	2. Have No Fear

**Have No Fear**

She was thirteen years old when she stopped wanting to run in the other direction whenever Joffrey's scarred bodyguard was around.

It was the first time her entire family had come to the seaside to spend the school summer holiday. All six weeks of it. Her family had rented out a house close to the Baratheon's townhouse for the duration, and almost every day was spent lazing at the beach, strolling along the esplanade and eating fish and chips.

Sansa's brothers and sister liked to go fishing, and their father took them out as often as he could. Their mother kept reminding him that they were on vacation and that he shouldn't have to work. Her father would just smile and make sure that he was home in time for dinner on the days he had to go into the office.

That day, her father had been called into the office. Consequently, he had not been able to accompany them sailing on board Robert Baratheon's yacht. Sansa could see that her mother had not been pleased, but the Baratheons were expecting them, and her mother had not been willing to disappoint all of her children by cancelling the outing.

Excitedly, Sansa had rushed on board the luxury yacht just behind her siblings, before they were taken to the cockpit to meet the skipper. Joffrey and his brother and sister were there too, and soon the young people had segregated themselves from the adult guests. She'd noted that Joffrey's bodyguard was there as well, keeping to the background as he always tended to do. She hadn't forgotten how he'd yelled at her, and she stayed out of his way if she could help it.

The sun was out, and being a glorious summer day, the skipper took them out to the open sea. Sansa had been having a fantastic time, and she didn't think anything could spoil it. However, Arya and Joffrey soon got to arguing about something, and Joffrey had called her sister a name. Then came the pushing and shoving, and while Robb had tried to break up the argument, Sansa had somehow gotten in the way, and the next thing she knew she was thrown backwards…and over the rear of the moving yacht.

She hadn't expected the water to be so cold, or so dark, and she hadn't expected that her summer dress would drag her down. No matter how hard she tried to kick to the surface, she couldn't get her legs free of the waterlogged fabric. Her lungs were burning, and she was swallowing seawater in her panic.

Just when the thought of drowning crossed her mind, strong arms were around her, pulling her up through the dark water, breaking the surface and allowing her to gasp in much needed air.

"You're all right, little bird," a voice rasped behind her, "You're all right."

He had an arm hooked tightly around her ribcage, while he treaded water and used his other arm to propel them in the direction of the yacht. She clutched at him, sputtering seawater, and still trying to take in air.

"Kick your legs, if you can," he said over her head, and she did as she was told.

They were met halfway by a small inflatable boat that the skipper had sent after them. The speedy yacht had travelled an alarming distance in the time Sansa had been in the water. Joffrey's bodyguard sat in the boat beside her, gripping her arm tightly to make sure she didn't fall back into the sea.

The burned man was soaked to the bone, just as she was, with his black hair plastered to his skull. She sat to his left, his bad side, and he wore a ferocious expression that made him more frightening than ever. She couldn't stop staring at him, but neither could she say a word to him.

Back onboard the yacht, her mother, siblings and the Baratheons had fussed over her. She'd been bundled into a robe and taken to the bathroom to get dry and change her clothing. Her mother had then insisted on returning to the wharf, and Robert Baratheon had complied. Sansa did not see the scarred bodyguard when they disembarked.

There had been more fuss around her at home, particularly when her father had returned from the office. He'd been contacted earlier, of course, and the relief in her father's eyes to see her safe and whole had even made Sansa teary.

"Were you frightened, Sansa?" her father asked her, holding her to his chest.

"I was, at first," Sansa had nodded, remembering the coldness and darkness of the sea enveloping her, "Then...Mr. Clegane came into the water after me."

Her father smiled at her. He'd been told of her rescue as well.

"I've spoken to Clegane," her father told her, "I thanked him personally, for giving me my daughter back."

It was then that Sansa remembered that she hadn't thanked her saviour, but she would have to wait until she saw him again. It was no small thing that he did, and it wasn't her life he'd been hired to protect.

After the family had taken dinner, Sansa found the house suddenly too noisy, and overcrowded, when all she wanted was to be alone for a while. It wasn't every day that one nearly drowns. So, while the rest of her siblings watched television in the living room, and while her parents chatted quietly and shared a bottle of wine in the dining room, Sansa slipped out the front door and went for a walk.

The evening breeze was cool against her sunburnt skin, and the sun had not yet set. There were still plenty of people about. Sansa wondered how many of them knew what it was like to drown.

Her feet took her to the esplanade, and she shielded her eyes with her hand against the glare reflecting off the water. There were still pleasure boats dotted on the horizon, and Sansa shivered unexpectedly. It would be a while before she would be getting onto another yacht.

The Old Pier was open that day, and Sansa stopped against the railing at the entrance. The memory of Sandor Clegane yelling at her played in her mind again, but this time it was swiftly followed by the words he'd rasped into her ear as he'd pulled her head above the water, and she didn't cringe.

_"You're all right, little bird...You're all right."_

He'd only meant to keep her safe, she knew that, now.

Sansa walked onto the pier, taking care not to trip on the uneven planks, stopping at a bench at the furthest tip of the pier. She sat there for a long time, and it was as the sun was finally starting to set that he found her.

The only warning she had was the heavy thud of boots against the wooden planks, and a whiff of cigarette smoke. She turned, and stared at the burned face of Sandor Clegane in surprise, just as he was staring at her.

"What are you doing here, little bird?"

"I was just...just thinking," she replied.

"Been sitting here long, have you?"

She nodded.

"What were you thinking about?" he took a drag on his cigarette.

Sansa shrugged.

"Come on," the man made an impatient gesture with the hand holding the cigarette, "You can't have been sitting here all that time thinking about nothing."

He continued to stare at her, and nervously, Sansa managed to answer him, "I was thinking about what happened today...nearly drowning."

"Thinking about death, then," he stated, and gazed at her with an odd look on his face, "Drowning isn't such a bad way to go."

Sansa gasped at his words, and at the sound of her inhale, his look hardened somewhat.

"The cold water numbs the pain, see? There's no sound either, under the water, and it's dark," he explained, "Supposed to be a painless, peaceful way to die."

"Stop it," Sansa said, which earned her a cruel kind of smile from the man, "How can you say that?"

His response was harsh, "It has to be better than being burned alive!"

Sansa's eyes had immediately flocked to his scars, and found that she had no response to his statement. Only a question. _How did you get those scars? _

"It's getting late," he said after some moments of silence, "Best run home now, girl."

Sansa stood up, and before she'd taken too many steps away from him, she remembered her manners.

"Mr. Clegane -"

"Don't call me _mister_," he interrupted her, "Makes me feel old."

"Aren't you?" Sansa winced at the look he gave her.

"I'm twenty-nine," he told her, "If you have to address me, use my name. Or, just call me Hound, like Joffrey does."

Twenty-nine still sounded old to her, but she didn't want to anger him so she chose the second option, "Hound."

"What?"

"Thank you," she said, looking him right in the eyes. There was just enough light for her to learn that they were grey, "Thank you for saving me."

His eyes narrowed, and he stubbed out his cigarette before pulling another out of his jacket pocket. She didn't think he was going to acknowledge her, but in the end, he lifted his eyes back to her and gave her a brief nod.

"Fly away now, little bird."

He was an odd man, and he unsettled her. Yet, he had saved her life, and she learned she didn't need to be afraid him. Looking at him at that moment, for the first time, her blue eyes held no fear.


	3. Lessons Learned

**Okay, so here is chapter 3 of this little story I'm writing for xxxidrilxxx.**

**Read, review, enjoy! Thank you!**

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**Lessons Learned**

Joffrey began to take an interest in Sansa the following year.

Sandor observed as the fifteen-year-old boy became more attentive to the girl, and noted the way Joffrey began to stare at her whenever she was nearby. Sansa was now at the age where girls became aware of their femininity, and of the way that young men began to look at them. It was also about the time that girls began learning how to use the former, to attract more of the latter.

She had grown taller since Sandor had last seen her, and had lost much of the sharp angles that had marked her adolescent figure, replacing them with the curves that defined her as a woman. Still a girl, a child, in Sandor's opinion, but he recognized that soon, she would be a stunning woman.

Sansa also began to acknowledge Sandor's presence. Where once she had ignored him, she would now nod her head if she saw him in passing, and greet him with a quiet 'hello'. She would even smile at him, on occasion. She still maintained a careful distance around him, but since he'd jumped into the ocean to save her, she no longer flinched at the sight of his face.

In the summer months, the warmer evenings provided ample opportunity for entertaining, and Robert and Cersei Baratheon were known for throwing elaborate parties at their waterfront mansion, inviting important business acquaintances and other prominent members of society. Ned and Catelyn Stark were, of course, permanent fixtures at these parties. During such evenings Sandor would be assigned to security detail, and he would spend the time standing in a corner or in a shadow somewhere, keeping to the background while he watched the constant charade, the fakery and the flattery play out before him with hardened, cynical eyes.

In almost ten years of working for the Baratheons, Sandor had witnessed numerous instances of deceitful behaviour, and not just against his employers. Where he had grown up, Sandor had been subjected to hard truths and painful, often brutal honesty. But in the Baratheons' employ, he'd learned that sugar-coated barbs, offhand remarks and subtle innuendos could be far more hurtful, and destructive. In the world he'd found himself in, he observed that most people would say almost anything to get what they wanted.

Robert was no different. He was a charismatic man, when he had a mind to be, but became abrupt when he started to lose patience. The man was also a womanizer, and everyone appeared to know it, but it seemed his wife chose to turn a blind eye to his infidelities.

It was a Saturday evening, and Robert and Cersei were hosting another such party. Sandor had been obliged to wear a formal suit during his security shift. He hated formal clothing of any kind, but the suit helped him to blend in, where his extraordinary height, build and distinctive face would not. The regular guests had been invited, including the Starks, who'd brought with them two of their older offspring, Robb and Sansa.

Sandor recalled that Robb had attended the parties with his parents before, but this was the first time that the little bird had ever accompanied them. It appeared her parents now considered her grown-up enough, and the girl's pride at such recognition was evidenced by her beaming smile. Something about her looked different, and after staring at her for a moment, Sandor realized that it was the clothes she was wearing, and that she had done something to her hair. Her midnight blue skirt was cinched at the waist, and the sleeveless cream coloured blouse accentuated her womanly form. Her auburn locks had also been styled in a way that made her appear older. The gently curling mass had been swept to the side and left to cascade over one pale shoulder. If he didn't know her, and if he were to see her for the first time, he would say she was seventeen. Except, he did know her, and he frowned when he noted that he wasn't the only man in the room that was looking at her. When she turned in his direction and nodded at him, he did not reciprocate her acknowledgement.

He watched as her parents led her around the room to be introduced to more of their acquaintances, and as some of the younger male guests began introducing themselves to Sansa. Joffrey must also have noticed the attention Sansa was receiving, for it wasn't long after that the boy eventually found his way to Sansa's side.

Sandor lost sight of them when he went to make his hourly rounds, making sure that the areas of the mansion he had responsibility of were trouble free. He'd been settling in for another hour of standing in a corner when Cersei Baratheon approached him.

"Have you seen my son?" Cersei asked him.

"No ma'am," he replied, "Not in the last hour."

"Fetch him for me," she ordered him, "There are some people I want him to meet."

Sandor obeyed with a nod to the cold-eyed blonde, and turned on his heel. He had last seen the boy excusing himself from the lounge area, and he began to search in the usual places that Joffrey liked to hide when he was trying to keep away from his mother. A quick search of the bar, balcony and entertainment room revealed no sign of him. It reminded him that the boy was growing older, and getting better at avoiding him. He couldn't blame the kid. What teenage boy wanted his bodyguard-slash-nanny tailing him around? It was hard to hook up with girls when your minder was with you almost constantly, but it never stopped the boy from trying.

As Joffrey had entered high-school, Sandor had been quick to notice that the boy had inherited a few of his father's traits. When he had a mind to be, he could be just as charismatic and charming as his father. He had a way with words, and used them to his advantage. Sandor would overhear the boy bragging to his school chums about which girls he'd been out with, and what he'd been able to convince them to do just by sweet-talking them.

"One day, you'll get caught," he'd told the boy once, "Girls like to talk, you know."

"So?" Joffrey had challenged him, "There will always be willing girls who'll want me because of who I am."

"You'll be happy with gold-diggers, then?"

The boy had shrugged, "Girlfriend or gold-digger…what's the difference? My father says that all women want is money, but at least a gold-digger is upfront about it."

Joffrey had a point, but Sandor was not pleased about the lessons that the boy was picking up from his father. A fifteen year old boy had no business looking at the world through such jaded eyes. He hadn't lived long enough, and hadn't seen enough to have earned the right to be cynical.

_What about you, dog? _He'd asked himself. _What kind of life have you lived? What have you seen in your thirty years? _He'd shaken his head then, and had he been off-duty he might have got himself a beer. Answer was, he'd seen enough and lived long enough to learn that life wasn't fair. At least, it hadn't been fair to him.

He'd been born a Clegane, and that meant living with a depressed, alcoholic father. His mother had died giving birth to him, and his father blamed him for it. He'd had an older sister, once, but she'd died too when he was a kid and now he barely remembered her face. He had no other family left, but an older brother. The same brother that was responsible for giving him his scars. _How is it fair that I have to keep paying for that bastard's cruelty? _For the rest of his life, Sandor would have to endure people staring at him, judging him, and discriminating against him because of something that had been out of his control and not his fault.

He shook his head again, and reminded himself that he had a job to do. Sandor had just been about to make his way back to the bar when he happened to overhear Catelyn Stark asking her son Robb a question.

"Have you seen your sister? Sansa seems to have disappeared."

Sandor knew then, without a doubt, that the girl would be with Joffrey and this brought his earlier frown back between his brows. He also knew where he would find them, and a second later he was taking the flight of the stairs at the rear of the mansion, heading for the rooms on the top floor.

He found them in a room that was used as an office by visiting guests. The balcony door was open, and it was the movement of the curtain catching the sea breeze that caught his eye through the partially opened doorway.

"Joffrey, maybe we should slow down…"

"Shh…someone could hear you…"

Keeping to the shadows, Sandor stepped into the room and let his eyes adjust to the dimmed reading lamp that illuminated the small office. Joffrey was sitting on a leather sofa with Sansa astride his lap, facing Joffrey and her legs on either side of Joffrey's thighs. Her skirt had ridden up to her hips, and the boy was palming her arse through the fabric with one hand, while the other was about her waist, playing with the hem of her blouse.

"Joff, I really don't think -" the girl reached for the hand at her waist and stopped him as he tried to raise the fabric of her blouse.

"It's all right," Joffrey cooed into her ear, "You can trust me."

The boy lowered his face to try and kiss her mouth, but at the last moment she turned her face, and instead his kiss landed on her cheek.

"I mean it...I thought I heard someone," she peered into the darkness somewhere near Sandor.

"There's no one there," Joffrey let go of her blouse so he could grasp her chin and turn her face back to him, "Come on, Sansa. "

Sandor watched as Joffrey pressed himself onto the girl, kissing the side of her face and her neck, all the while the girl put her hands on his shoulders to try and keep some distance between them.

"Ease up a little," she said to him, "You'll mess up my make-up."

"Just relax, okay?" Joffrey took the girl's face between his hands and gave her a soft smile, "Trust me."

Sansa appeared to relax, capitulating, and Joffrey resumed kissing her. When his hands returned to palming her arse, the girl did not protest again.

Sandor found himself suddenly fuming. He was angry at Joffrey for taking advantage of the girl, and annoyed with her for letting the brat use her. She was fourteen, and this was not a game for children.

He cleared his throat..._loudly_, and watched as both teenagers sprang apart. Both of their expressions became that of children caught doing something that they shouldn't. Until Joffrey saw that it was just him, and the boy's expression turned smug.

"It's just you, dog," the boy said with a note of irritation in his voice, "What do you want?"

"Your mother wants you," Sandor turned his grey eyes to the girl, who was now sitting self-consciously on Joffrey's knees, "Yours is looking for you, too."

Joffrey swore, and Sansa flushed pink with embarrassment, but Sandor was glad he'd interrupted. He knew Joffrey, and he knew what the fifteen year old was capable of. Sansa was completely oblivious to the trouble she could have been in. The boy hadn't even thought to close, let alone lock, the office door. _Anyone_ could have walked into the room, and there was nothing innocent about the position he'd found them in.

Ungracefully, Joffrey pulled Sansa from his lap and deposited her onto the seat beside him, before he stood up and righted his own clothes. He did not offer assistance to Sansa, who was struggling to finger-comb her mussed up hair back into place, and to straighten her crooked blouse and skirt.

"Stay here for now, and give me five minutes before you come down," Joffrey instructed her, before he fixed his posture and walked out of the room.

Sansa then stood up, and continued to fuss with her clothing and hair. Her movements were jerky, Sandor knew it was because he was still in the room.

"The bathroom is at the end of the hall," he said gruffly, "You can fix yourself up in there."

Sansa nodded, but she didn't move immediately. Instead, she gave him a look from beneath her lashes.

"You won't tell anyone, will you?" she asked him.

He glared his disapproval down at her, "I should. You're a kid."

"I am not," she retorted, "I'm fourteen."

He made a noise that passed for his laughter, "So, you had it all under control, I suppose?"

The girl bit the side of her lip and lowered her eyes, "He wasn't doing anything I didn't want him to do."

"You asked him to stop."

"I asked him to _slow down_," she corrected him, her cheeks attaining a deeper tint of pink.

"Did you really think he would _slow down_?" Sandor glared at her, but he couldn't tell whether the widening of her eyes meant that she understood what he was really getting at, "Boys will say anything to get what they want from you."

"But, this is _Joffrey_," Sansa emphasized, and Sandor wanted to laugh at the incredulous tone in her voice.

"He's still a boy," Sandor pointed out.

"He's not like that," she shook her head, "He's different."

"If that's what you want to believe," he sneered, then turned to walk away, "But, don't say I didn't warn you."

"Why are being so awful? Why do you always say such awful things?" she demanded at his retreating back.

Sandor was reminded of the last conversation they'd had...when they'd discussed death.

"I'm not being awful," he rasped, before he left the room, "I'm being honest."

He couldn't teach her this, he thought. It was a lesson she would have to learn for herself.


End file.
